“Move to Michigan,” they said. “The snow will be fun,” they said. They lied. Snow is all fun and games until you’ve got a foot and a half of it on the driveway that you’re going to have to shovel out in temperatures that haven’t been this low in 100 years. And then to rub salt in the wound, and on the driveway, Michigan’s Governor Gretchen Whitmer just declared a state of emergency. Excuse me, sister, but I declared a state of emergency back in October when temperatures went below 50. We need to declare a state of Armageddon here.
As I’ve been barricaded in my house near my fireplace begging for global warming to bring an early spring, I’ve learned some interesting things about snow. For example, the colder it is outside, the louder the snow is when you walk or drive on it. Of course, it is. The snow is trying to drown out the sound of transplanted Southerners screaming and wailing about cabin fever and the frostbite on their extremities.
Because the Kwakiutl Indians of British Columbia change their names to the name of one of their ancestors each winter to protect them from the snow spirits, I’m changing my name to Princess PointusSouth. Surely, my ancestors had the good sense to migrate to more tropical climes.
Everyone knows we don’t eat the yellow snow, but I’ve now been warned if you eat the red snow, you’ll end up with brown snow. Called “watermelon snow,” there are drifts of ruddy-tinted snow that actually smell like fresh watermelon. I’m guessing this is the winter equivalent of a desert mirage, but it’s caused by a species of pigmented algae that grows in ice. Supposedly it tastes great, but it’ll give you the runs. My advice: question everything and don’t trust your snow cones.
Currently, my family has me on Pibloktoq Watch. Pibloktoq is a snow-induced hysteria experienced by people living in the Arctic, which is practically where I am, that can cause symptoms like echolalia (senseless repetition of overheard words) and running around naked in the snow. Proof that too much snow can, in fact, make you crazy. Combine this with the watermelon snow, and you’ve potentially got a crisis of epic proportions. Proof, too, that things really can get worse. But you’ll excuse me, I have to go shovel now.
